Fallout 2 - The Epilogue
by ConvictedKitten
Summary: Our Vault Dweller stands before his fellow men to deliver a speech.


"Your plan has been foiled, Mr. President!"

"Ah! Curse you Lone Wanderer!" was his reply, as his oil rig sunk into the ocean. Thousands of gallons of oozing black liquid spewed from the wreckage, tainting the sea in an ominous hue. The Lone Wanderer watched agape at the unforeseen catastrophe he had caused, having quite possibly murdered an entire community of sea creatures. His gay lover from Vault 13 clutched his arm.

"All those poor animals," he sniveled. The Lone Wanderer and his Vault 13 friends were disheartened by the sight, even though they had just saved themselves from certain death. A bubble emerges from the submarined wreckage, the final breathe of United States President Richardson.

Geraldo, the queer of Vault Thirteen and now significant other of the Lone Wanderer, rested his head on his weary shoulder. He let out a brief sigh, whispering softly, "I wish we could save them."

"Me too, but since we have FEV our immune systems will shut down long before we could ever do anything," the Lone Wanderer gave in a stark reply, brushing off Geraldo's head. He swiveled about on his heel and faced the others. His voice echoed as he spoke, "Transgendered ladies and sexually confused gentlemen! You have been delivered by your Secretary-General to revitalize our dying nation as the second United Socialist Republic!"

His shouts were met by applause, the people cheering loudly with their embroidered signs raised high in the air. On them were stenciled, "Enclave Shmenclave" and "No Love for Big Oil!". A few of them even pecked their homosexual partner's cheeks. A single couple at the rear were having anal intercourse, doing so openly.

"Those of you who have fallen ill to the scourge that is the FEV, abstain not! In a few years hence, I assure you that we will find a cure!"

A decent chunk of the audience, on hearing the Lone Wanderer's words, wiped their scalps in relief, squeezing out heaps of Vaseline from their portable tubes. The more radical of the group scoffed in disgust, muttering to themselves of how destructive petroleum products were to the environment and of how they preferred to go in dry for Mother Nature. In the backdrop of this commotion there stood nothing except desolate waste. A gust of wind blew a thin film of dirt, averted by the signature Islamic tablecloths wrapped around the crowd's faces.

Off in the distance, a figure emerged. It approached gradually wavering a cloak using the tips of its fingers. Despite the deformed contours of its body producing only a circular shape of no recognizable gender, the audience could somehow see that it was a man. He had a dark shade of unkempt hair about his chin and neck, thin-rimmed spectacles perched delicately on his nose. The short crown of a trilby protruded from his scalp, that if he were confronted about he would insist was a fedora. Every other article of his image could be extrapolated from this faint impression, nothing left at all to the reader's imagination. When after a five minute walk over the course of a hundred yards he had reached the crowd, he took the next five to catch his breathe. Everyone in his wake stood in rigid suspense, listening to the conceitedness of his slurring words.

"Subjects of Vault Thirteen! I have come!"

Murmurings of disbelief erupted throughout the audience. A single transgendered man plastered with makeup in a push-up bra clambered to the front of the crowd.

"Are you really him? The one!?" he or she said, thrusting a pineapple in his or her ass all the while.

"Yes! It is I!", he boomed, and the audience descended into chaos. Everyone screamed over one another, engaging in slapping-fights and ultra BDSM play. In the midst of the bedlam, the figure gestured with his hand to silence. Fantastically enough, they complied, one by one they ceased their uproar.

"As you know, I am in fact... Tremor Stormcloak, the bringer of political correctness for all!

They watched in a stunned silence as the Stormcloak produced from his person a rolled document signed in his name, declaring all constituents of the Enclave liable by Section 5-204 of the LGBT's CIS Abolition Act of 2053. Stated in this document was the hitherto expulsion of anyone blessed by a privileged upbringing. Every single person in attendance shed genuinely human tears at the sight, an occurrence the least justifiable of any in these series of events.

"I, equally, feel the same sentiments. Today we overcame adversity, paving the way for our future generations! Even if these generations are imaginary since we're all homosexual, I'm sure that we still accomplished something for humanity!"


End file.
